


Mine

by iceblink



Series: Swan Queen Week 2015 [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark!Emma, F/F, Jealousy, My First Smut, Shameless Smut, Swan Queen Week 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceblink/pseuds/iceblink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know, why don’t we play a game, dearie? I’ll whisper in your ear all the things I’d like to do to you, and you’ll lie there, perfectly still and quiet, so that Robin doesn’t hear.”</p><p>Written for Swan Queen week day 2: Jealousy </p><p>Fair warning: Snow White would definitely say that this is porn. Probably best not to read this if you like Robin Hood. Dark!Emma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

It’s pitch black, when she materialises, pitch black and moonless, and, even with her enhanced senses - courtesy of the ancient evil currently sharing her body - she struggles to make out the shapes in the room. The darkness is fitting, perhaps, she chuckles blackly, given the pitch that’s gradually spreading through her heart, the lumpen, spitting magma of hate that’s bubbling up more every day, threatening to overwhelm the fading parts of Emma that she’s tried, every day, to hold fast to.

She needs to see her, needs to check, to check that she’s okay, that she’s happy, that this was worth it. For her, _anything_ would be worth it.

Her eyes adjust to the darkness, and then she sees: there are two lumps, not one, burrowed beneath the covers of Regina’s bed.

 _She’s happy_ , a little voice inside her whispers.  _You did it for her happiness, and look, she’s happy._

But then the darkness roars, and the voice is gone. _Like hell she’s happ_ y. Like hell she can be happy with _him_. He’s never deserved her, this spineless weed of a man, pompously dithering about his so-called moral code whilst sleeping with the very woman who had, once upon a time, killed his wife, the _mother of his son_. What a man, not to love Marian enough to hate the person who’d crumbled her heart to dust, not to want to avenge his supposed love’s death. Why, if anyone dared to harm Regina she’d move heaven and earth to ensure that person’s life came to a swift and painful end. _Honour_ , he says. _Like fuck._

And how could he _ever_ claim to love _Regina_ when he could _never_ understand her, had never felt the dark pulse of magic, the unmistakeable, hypnotic thrill of power, the sensation of taking a heart in your hands and smiling as someone begged you to stop, of squeezing until the life force drained away? How could he claim to know her when he could never understand what it felt like, living every second with the temptation, the desire to succumb to the darkness?

Oh, but Emma knows. Oh, now, alone with the pitch blackness in her heart, she knows. She understands.

And his hands, his rough, fumbling hands, how could they _ever_ deign to touch her, _ever_ dare to think that they could please her, could stoke her up until her skin burned and sparks of fire jumped from her fingers, until she arched and melted and screamed for release? She was a queen, and he was a filthy peasant, an interloper in someone else’s bed.

No, Robin couldn’t touch her, couldn’t love her, couldn’t ever make her feel like Emma could.

And with that, jealousy burning in her eyes, she creeps close to the bed, crouching over Regina and lowering her head so that her breath caresses the shell of Regina’s ear, close enough that Regina’s scent - apples, amber, spice - envelops her senses.

“Sleeping soundly, Madame Mayor?” she hisses, and as she feels Regina stir, looking around her for the source of the noise, her heart throbs in her chest, her jealousy of the motionless lump beside her Regina eclipsed by the desire, the lust, the inconvenient love that she’s never quite been able to suppress.

“Emma?” Her whispered tone is hopeful, which amazes Emma, because Regina’s already seen her, since she’s been like this, she knows what Emma is, what she’s become. _Not that it’s relevant_ , the darkness whispers, _she’s with Robin, loving him, not us._ Not _you_.

“Regina,” she replies dryly. “Nice to see that you’re keeping busy.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Regina replies, catching Emma’s tone, her head tilting in vain to connect her eyes with Emma’s. But she’s there first, her fingers softly pushing Regina’s head back to the pillow, her breath back at Regina’s ear.

“Ssssh, quietly Regina, quietly. I know, why don’t we play a game, dearie? I’ll whisper in your ear all the things I’d like to do to you, and you’ll lie there, perfectly still and quiet, so that dear Robin doesn’t hear.”

And Emma can just about see Regina’s mouth opening in shock, her eyes widening, struggling to focus on the figure crouched above her in the dark, and she smirks, archly placing a finger over her own lips.

“Emma,” Regina whispers, her voice quivering despite her attempt to be firm. “No. This - this isn’t you, this is the darkness. You’ve never wanted -“

“Oh, but it is, my Queen, it is. If only you’d known, if only you’d seen how much I’ve wanted to touch you for years, wanted to run my fingers through your hair, wanted curl my tongue, so slowly, over that delicious little scar of yours, wanted to -

“- I’ll get the dagger, Emma,” Regina interrupts, but it’s a broken, desperate whisper, and Emma can hear that the brunette is completely at sea, that maybe, no _definitely,_ she’s thought about this just as much as Emma has.

“No you won’t,” Emma hisses, mirthful malice in her tone, daring Regina to _command_ her to stop. “You want this too, Regina, just as much as I do.”

And Regina’s silent, but she doesn’t move her hand to take the dagger from where Emma knows she’ll have put it, under her pillow. She knows Regina, knows she could have the dagger in a second, should she want it, knows that her failure to do so is, in essence, her permission to continue.

“As I thought, dearie,” Emma smirks, and she’s gone now, the anger and desire melding into an insistent, delicious throb that she can’t help but indulge, and she leans in even closer, so that there’s only a sliver of air between her lips and Regina’s ear, a sliver of air through which the silver-tongued dark one can voice all of Emma’s hidden desires.

“I’d start slowly, Regina, learning you, tasting you, finding out which spots make you gasp, make you moan. With my hands, my tongue, I’d explore every single inch of your face, your neck, and you’d let me, Regina, oh, you’d tilt your head just so, baring your beautiful neck to me, inviting me. And yes, yes, I’d bite down, right where everyone can see, bite until your skin reddens to the colour of the apples from that tree you love so much, and then I’d kiss you so hard that I’d swallow the sound of your gasps, your whimpers, that all you’d feel around you would be me, would be how much I want _you_.”

And Regina’s lying there, silent, as Emma whispers, but she doesn’t ask her to stop, doesn’t reach for the dagger, and Emma hears her breath hitch slightly, and, smiling, she continues, slowly, ever so slowly.

“And then I’d go down, kissing your skin, licking the beads of sweat as you start to writhe beneath me, kissing your shoulders, your chest, my hands going behind to cup that glorious ass of yours. And then, Regina, then I’d unclasp your bra, and my lips, my tongue, my teeth would kiss all over those beautiful breasts of yours. Oh, I’ve imagined what they look like thousands of times, my Queen, I’ve imagined just how your nipples would stiffen between my lips, how you’d yelp when I’d bite down on them, how I’d rub them and pinch them between my fingers until you were torn between begging me to stop and begging me for _more_.”

And Regina’s breathing harder now, as Emma whispers these secret desires into her ear, and it’s time, she thinks, to raise the stakes.

“Tell me, if I was to feel between your legs now, Madame Mayor, would you be wet for me?”

“No,” Regina protests breathily, and Emma scoffs, raising her eyebrow in amusement.

“Remember, my Queen, I can always tell when you’re lying. Let’s try again, shall we, Regina? _Are. you. wet_?”

And with that, she gives up, and Emma gasps as she hears the moaned, pained, stuttered “yes.”

“Mmmm,” Emma whispers, speaking faster now, her voice laced now with her own arousal. “If it were _me_ in that bed, not _him_ , I wouldn’t be able to wait any longer now. I’d stroke you, right in that spot behind your knees that makes you weak, kiss all up your thighs, I’d want to tease, to make you moan, to make you beg, but I’m only human, you know, and I’ve been waiting so long, my Queen, so long to _taste_ you.”

And Regina’s quivering beneath her, her breathing heavy, and Emma’s blackening heart swells in giddy triumph. This is real, it’s the darkness, yes, but it’s Emma and Regina too, it’s hatred and jealousy and lust and love, and it’s absolutely delicious.

“And so I’d rip off that scrap of lace that I’m sure you’re wearing, and I’d throw your legs back, spread you so that you’re wide open for me, so that I can see every beautiful inch of you, Regina. Because I’d fucking _worship_ you, you know, if it were me in that bed. And then - yes - I’d swirl my tongue right through your velvet folds and drink you in, I’d swallow all of that delicious wetness, because it’s for _me_ , isn’t it Regina? It’s all for _me_.”

And Regina’s completely given up the pretence now, her “yes” more of a moan than a whisper, her hand coming to cup the back of Emma’s head and push it even closer to her ear, so close that it’s all that she can do not to push out her tongue and lick, give her love a preview of her promises. But no. _No._

“Shh, my Queen, that’s a good girl,” she crows. “After all, you wouldn’t want your _boyfriend_ to hear you now, would you?”

“Emma-“ she replies, her voice low and gravelly, the name now almost a benediction on her lips, but Emma can’t stop, needs to see this through to its conclusion.

“But you, you’d like it rough, wouldn’t you, Madame Mayor? You’d beg me for my fingers, and, well, you know me, Regina, I like to please. And so I’d enter you hard, three fingers, straight away, and I’d thrust them up into you, and I’d twist them, curl them, right against that spot that makes you arch, and scream, and, at the same time, I’d flick my tongue right against your hard little pearl, suck it, bite it, until you’re writhing, and pulsing around me, and screaming my name in absolute ecstasy, because there’s _nobody_ else, _nobody_ else, who could _ever_ make you feel like I do.”

And she can tell, even without touching her, can feel Regina’s body shake, can sense the arch of her back, the trembling of her limbs, and then a little bit of Emma shines through the darkness, and it’s all that she can do not to hold her, not to scoop her up in her arms and brush soft kisses against her lips and tell her, really tell her, just how _much_ she feels. But no. _No._

Instead, she stays in place, she waits, as Regina’s shivers start to slow and her breathing evens out. And once the quaking has stopped, she says her parting words, voice still laced with desire. ”Mmm, my Queen, I knew I could please you, even without a single touch. Tell me, is it as good, when he fucks you? Do you shake, and beg, and moan for _Robin_ like you do for _me_? Tell me, Regina, do you _come_?”

And Regina doesn’t speak, her eyes screwed tightly, and yet Emma knows her answer, and a smile breaks out over her features. “Goodnight, Madame Mayor. Sleep tight, here with _Robin_.” Satisfied, she creeps away from the bed, back towards the door, and then, finally, the lumbering form of Robin stirs.

“Regina?” he mumbles, and a spike of hate stabs through her chest and oh, it would be easy, so easy, to walk up to the other side of the bed and pluck his inconsequential, vapid heart from his chest, to see his face stutter and stumble as he begged for mercy, and to laugh, to cackle, as he simply melted away. “Did you hear anything, my love?”

And Regina doesn’t answer, and Emma smiles, for whilst she might not be taking hearts today, she knows that Robin can never have Regina’s, that there’s one heart, one person, that truly belongs to her, and that she belongs to right back. And so she creeps round, silently, until she’s above the half-sleeping figure of the thief. And lowering her mouth to his ear, she chuckles heartily. “Oh, Robin, poor, dear, _stupid_ Robin, ” she whispers, “did nobody tell you? Regina, she can never, never be your love. She’s _mine_.”

And with that, chuckling to herself, she vanishes from the room.


End file.
